Monday, October 16, 2006


Darkness ushers
whispers of the past,
when frost's spreading web
was banished
by thick curtains.

When the faces in the flames
spat out sparks,
and smoke escaped the chimney's draught
each time the door was opened.

When bread was forked
and tortured over raked, red ashes,
like a barbequed saint.
Toasted, buttered, eaten;
but unlike the dry stuff
they give away in church -
Never sanctified.

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